Hunger
by NoTimeToStop
Summary: Jackson Whittemore knows what he wants, and he knows Derek Hale can give it to him. SLASH. (Rated Teen because it gets a little sexy.)


**_Congratulations to Colton Hayes on his engagement! To celebrate, here's my very first Dackson (Jerek?) fic! Don't forget to leave a review!_**

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 **HUNGER**

This was all McCall's fault.

If he hadn't suddenly transformed into some kind of freak (okay, he had already been kind of a freak to begin with, but he was definitely _more_ of a freak now), Jackson could have continued living his perfect life in blissful ignorance. He would still be the _sole_ lacrosse captain – the best player in the district, the top dog, the end all and be all of the team, a demi-god on and off the field; he would still be satisfied dating Lydia Martin, the Queen Bee of Beacon Hills High, and he would never have known there was something in his life he was missing. That there existed out there a power that could he possess, making him stronger, faster, better.

He never would have met Derek Hale.

Before Jackson had realized the truth of what was happening, of werewolves and supernatural forces, he had assumed Derek was a serial killer. Scott, Stiles, Allison, Lydia, and himself had spent a horrific night locked in the school, battling what Scott had (dishonestly) claimed was simply a psychotic human, but was actually an Alpha werewolf, and Jackson was more than happy to let Hale take the rap. The man was a recluse – not the Bruce Wayne or intelligent eccentric type, but the creepy, stalker type who lured teenagers back to his place, never to be heard from again.

That was what made this situation so weird. Jackson was _drawn_ to the guy. Fascinated by him, captivated, the way an anglerfish's prey is attracted to its light or a siren lures boatmen to their watery graves. The attraction had started almost immediately upon Jackson's first meeting. He had brushed off the signs – the admiration, the brief hiccough of his heartbeat, the warmth spreading throughout his body – as a man-crush. Derek Hale had _presence._ He was a man's man. He didn't give a shit about anybody or anything. He had a kind of inherent authority, without having to utter a word. When he talked, people listened, even if they didn't like what he had to say. If Jackson was a demi-god in Beacon Hills, in a league among the likes of the ancient heroes Achilles, Hercules, Perseus, and Theseus – then Derek was a god – dark, moody, handsome, powerful, rebellious, and superior - Hades, Apollo, Ares, Poseidon, and Zeus all rolled into one man with stormy eyes and fierce brow. Prowling the Earth in his faux leather jacket and dark scowl. King of the Underworld and the Heavens, Rager of Storms and Slayer of Men. Incredible. Formidable. And alarming. Making mortals tremble with a single glare.

Jackson wanted that. Wanted that kind of power. Wanted his very essence to make the people around him shake and shiver.

Then he learned the truth: Scott and Derek were werewolves.

That, Jackson was sure, explained it – this attraction, this desire for what Derek had, for what he was. The way he was instinctively drawn to the older man. Why his knees seemed to weaken when Derek was near. Why his heart, his veins, the most intimate parts of his body and being throbbed when Derek occupied the same space as him. So close he could see the dark bristles of his five o'clock shadow and smell his cologne. Why he longed to be near him, even when Derek frightened and hurt him, and his thoughts dwelled often on the tall, dark enigma that was Derek Hale. Like the vampires in those ridiculous _Twilight_ movies Lydia had made him sit through; a yearning for the very thing you knew was bad for you. Was dangerous. It had to do with werewolf pheromones, or something like that. A scent they gave off, a supernatural feeling. It was the animal in Derek, the predator – wild and savage and intoxicating.

Jackson wanted the Bite. He _craved_ it. He made himself sick with longing for it. Without it he would remain unsatisfied, empty. There were holes in his life he had never noticed before. Wide and gaping, so large and deep and hollow, he wondered how it was possible he had never seen them before, had managed to survive this long and mistakenly label it as "living." How could he not have seen his own lack? Scott counseled against his desire, but Jackson would not be denied. He had been denied for too long.

He would do anything, _anything,_ to get what he wanted.

Derek was the Alpha now, and Jackson felt Derek owed him. Whatever Derek thought about it – that he was weak and needy – was irrelevant. Jackson had helped him, had saved him. He deserved what was coming to him. (Besides, why should he care what Derek thought? He knew what he wanted, and he would not rest until he got it.)

On what shaped into the most important night of his life, Jackson drove his Porsche to the Hale house. It was late. The yard was black and cast in shade. The house was a blackened husk of a structure. Burnt beyond salvaging. He wondered why Derek stayed here, especially now that he was an Alpha and could do whatever he wanted. Why did Derek continue to live among the ruins and his misery, his suffocating memories?

Jackson tried not to be afraid, though his heart pounded loudly in his ears. He knew the werewolf could hear it, could smell the stench of anxiety wafting off him, but he kept himself together. He was strong; he could handle the Bite. Now was not the time for weakness or cowardice. Traits he loathed and had never believed were a part of him, until Derek. Derek was a mirror who had showed him the truth about himself, and he was repulsed by the reflection he saw, and that a stranger should be the one to reveal it to him.

Jackson carefully made his way through the shadows, calling out to the figure he knew was there, watching him, waiting. The predator stalking his prey. "Derek. Derek! I - I helped you. I helped save you. Okay, you got what you wanted. You got what you wanted. Now it's my turn to get what I want."

Derek appeared from the shadows. The dark jinn of nightmares. _Be careful what you wish for._ Jackson saw his eyes first – blood red and glowing in the darkness – and then the rest of them, tall and foreboding. Derek seemed even larger and more intimidating than he ever had, taking up more space than his physical self. He seemed to fill the entire room, surrounding Jackson, wrapping himself around him.

The time for hesitation and doubt were over. The moment had come. The point of no return.

Derek was at his side in the time it took Jackson to blink. Time seemed to slow and stop altogether. Fangs barred, red eyes looming above him. Musk and rust filled his nostrils. And then – time snapped forward suddenly, lurching into quick motion. Derek grabbed him, and sunk his teeth into his neck.

Pain and ecstasy in equal, overwhelming measure. Jackson's lips opened, but he did not cry out. A soft gasp was all the escape. Derek's body was strong and warm, solid and steady. Commanding. Domineering. He could not escape. Derek's arms closed around Jackson, and the boy submitted to him. He could feel the teeth piercing through his flesh and becoming a part of him. He succumbed, allowing himself to crumple against the Alpha. Merging into him and becoming One. Jackson wanted Derek to devour him, all of him.

How agonizingly he wanted that, even more than he wanted the Bite. His heart battered against his ribcage, _POUND POUND POUND;_ his blood was liquid nitrogen; fire and gasoline. He thought he would burn up with it. Around him darkness transformed into light, and the world came alive. New sounds, new colors, new senses. How had he lived any other way? He had been dead before; this was life.

Derek was all passion and hunger. He lost himself to his animal urges, and he tasted Jackson. Relished his delicious and complete submission, the bloom and vigor of his youth and vitality, the flavor of his yearning. Addictive and inebriating. Derek could get drunk from it. His mouth moved from Jackson's neck upward, exploring the way with his tongue. Jackson arched into him, and all was lost in a blur of carnal desire, claws and fangs, fingers and skin. A sound between a growl and a groan reverberated deep in Jackson's throat, originating from the place inside him he hadn't even known existed. He hadn't known; he hadn't known.

Despite all his teasing of his best friend Danny, his intimidations of the other boys on the team, his confrontations with Scott and Stiles, he hadn't known this desire dwelling deep inside of him. Hadn't known such a thing were possible, so zealous and violent, it threatened to tear him up from the inside. Never had he felt this way, not once in all the time he had been with Lydia. Intense and tempestuous and strangely emotional, beautiful unearthly music hitting the all the right chords in perfect synchrony. And yet more. He feared it, and he wanted it all at once. Wanted to be drowned in fulfillment of his desire, leaving nothing left for tomorrow.

He was amnesiac; he lost track of time. He was aware only of Derek's hands, hot and rough, against his skin, the removal of his hoodie and the ripping of his white t-shirt. He surrendered himself to the wolf within, and when he awoke, he was submerged in water. The pond was freezing, and there was a nip in the night air, but he was not cold. The man in the pale full moon smiled down upon him, and Jackson smirked back.

His world had changed. Shifted. Everything was different now. There was no turning back.

He had Derek to thank for that. And he supposed, in a way, he had McCall to thank for that too.


End file.
